


Drabble: Discovering Joy

by JokeringCutio (Breakingthestandards)



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, Pregnancy, Sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-24 05:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/JokeringCutio
Summary: Prompt- Arthur finds out you are carrying his child !
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 152





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests.

It’s early morning when the front door opens with a creak. He is home later than usual. Penny is still in bed. You slept on the couch, waiting for Arthur to return late, as he does lately, but you’d fallen asleep somewhere along the waiting. You had awoken by singing birds in the trees, feeling slightly nauseated and in need of a certain relief.

It had seem the perfect moment to do the check, it said so in the manual after all.

You’re standing at the kitchen sink when he walks in. His face is riddled with lines. He’s tired, his hand trembles as he forces a smile when he sees you. “Up already?” His voice is so soft and fragile, and you’re afraid it might crack at the littlest motion. So you keep your eyes ahead at the tiles on the wall and grip the edge of the counter until your knuckles turn white.

The squeaking of the worn soles of his shoes tell you that he approaches, and before you have time to look over your shoulder at him, you already feel that Arthur’s behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles your neck. You can hear the suppressed chuckles in his throat. He is nervous, distressed, and you feel a pang of pain in your heart, knowing you should comfort him.

“Arthur, I-“ You can’t say more because he has brought his hand to your chin and gently turned your head, his fingertips digging into your skin as he guides your lips to his own and seals them with a kiss. Your eyes open wide and you allow him to spin you around in his arms until you’re front to front with him. When the kiss breaks and you look up at him, truly look at him, you can see the remnants of the white paint on his face and a fresh bruise on his cheek. A line of ruby red droplets is found on the other side.

He is hurt!

“Who did this?” You ask, reaching up to cup his sore cheeks, but he catches your hands before you truly reach him. Wincing, he sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. “Does it matter?” He asks in turn.

You nod, gritting your teeth. Someone hurt him. Someone _hurt_ your man. Curses filled your mind, as did thoughts of what you wanted to do to them. Why was this world so unfair? “It does to me.”

“Let it go,” Arthur says before placing a kiss on your knuckles. You watch him and notice his freshly split lip. Tears start to well in your eyes.

“I love you,” it comes out as a sigh but you know he heard you. His lips curl into a smile for a moment, then twitch down again.

“I’m going to clean up.” And with another kiss on your knuckles he’s gone to the bathroom to get a fresh washing cloth. You don’t think to stop him, don’t think of anything else but the people who hurt him. Who were they? Tough boys? Ghetto youth? People who thought it was fun to beat up a poor ailing clown? Your hands curled into fists at the many scenarios that wrecked through your brain.

Until you_ heard_ _him_, of course.

Stupid, _stupid _you.

This wasn’t soft sobbing, rather loud wailing, and you wondered if it would wake up his mother. Quickly you rush to the bathroom, halting in the doorway to see Arthur standing bend over the toilet. The seat was down, the lid covering the seat. He wasn’t standing there to throw up, or to take a piss. No, he was looking at the thing you’d forgotten to take off of it.

A little white stick that had cost you a fortune, but you had needed to know. Especially after the many days that had slowly turned into weeks of you missing that certain time of the month. And there it was. The evidence. Little blue coloured stripes, not faded but very clear and sharp.

And Arthur was stood over it, tears streaming down his face in an uncontrollable wailing. It was no ordinary crying, but sounded heart-shattering and as painful as his forced laughter. You carefully lift your hand, wanting to reach out for his back, but you hesitate. What if he wasn’t happy at all? What if-?

“This can’t- ” he is choking, but forces the words past his lips anyway. That is dedication. “This can’t be real.” Because of his choking and stuttering you have a hard time catching what it is he says, but then you blink.

“It is.” He turns around at the sound of your voice and you see the tears rolling down his face. His expression giving a whole new meaning to ugly sobbing. But _oh_, how it _shatters_ your heart. You want to reach for him but he reaches for you first. His large, thin hand is placed on top of your still slender belly. And through the tears he forms a smile.

You stand there in silence, just the two of you, gazing into each other’s eyes while his hand lays warm and heavy upon your tummy. You don’t know how long you stand that way, long enough for his tears to dry and the pained expression to turn into a smile. And long enough for his mother to awaken and call out for his help.

You gently place your hand on top of his and give him a squeeze. “I know it’s supposed to be your name,” you whisper, “but I am _happy_ this child is yours.”

Another suppressed sob and you fear he will start anew. But there’s the hint of a smile when he retracts his hand, reluctantly you note. It’s as if he doesn’t want to ever let you go. He takes a careful step away from you. But the distance he creates between you is compensated by the love that fills his eyes.

“I am blessed,” he whispers in turn. His mother calls out for him again.

“You should go to her,” you say. “If she sees I stayed over she might get a shock.”

Now he laughs, uncontrollably, and Penny says his name again, louder this time. She’s clearly worried if all is well with her son.

“She’ll get a shock, all right,” he mutters, then reaches for your shoulders. He draws you in for a deep kiss, then gently lets you go.

“Have a seat on the couch,” he tells you, his voice still soft. “I’ll tell mother that you came in early because you saw me coming home just now and worried.”

It was most of it true, except the coming in when you’d stayed over. You lift a brow and want to ask him why he would lie at all, but his finger is up in the air, shushing you, and then that very same hand runs through his hair as he smoothens it. “Let’s not tell her she’s going to be a grandma just yet. I want the time to be right.”

You smile at him and nod. You had to consider his mother’s frail condition, after all. Arthur turns on his heels and for a moment there’s a streak of confidence in him. He pockets the white stick with the blue lines, the evidence of your pregnancy, and you let him. God knows it might give him the strength he so badly needs.

You hear your name and watch as Arthur halts in his step to look at you from over his shoulder. “You’ll be perfect.”

Hearing Penny cry out his name more exasperatedly now, he turns just as swiftly and is gone. You stare at the empty toilet for a moment longer, letting his words sink in. Perfect for what? Perfect mother? Then you swiftly make your way to the couch, sitting down just in time for Arthur to step back into the living room with his mother on his arm. Your hand automatically flutters to your abdomen. Penny smiles and her eyes lighten up at the sight of you. “Arthur here told me you had come over early.”

For now, you decide to play along.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked: Can we have a continuation from when Arthur finds out the reader is pregnant please? I loved it
> 
> AN: I’m sorry. Did I hear you beg me for more? >D

  
When he comes home you notice he’s tired. There are crinkled lines next to his eyes and there is a fresh bruise to his temple. Of course, with the make-up on, no one will hardly notice. But _without _the make-up his bruise is vulnerable on display.   
  
“Did someone hit you?” You ask, gently brushing a strand of hair out of his face. 

Arthur’s eyes seek yours and he forces a smile. You can see it’s a forced one. Why does he always try so hard to please you and to pacify your worried feelings? It’s not his job to make you feel at ease all the time. It’s his job to be honest with you. 

“I fell,” is his excuse, but you just know someone must have beaten him up. Perhaps a passer-by, perhaps a colleague. You silently vouch to find out sooner rather than later. 

“I made you some dinner,” you say and he silently mutters a _thank you_. But instead of moving to the table he remains where he is, his hand fluttering to your protruding stomach. 

His fingers are warm upon your clad skin, as if his fingertips can burn through the layers of cloth and empower the child that’s deep within. 

You close your eyes and relish in the feel. 

“I’m not hungry,” he mutters. 

“Of course you’re not,” you can’t help but sound a bit bitter about it. Ever since the two of you got together and you moved into the cramped little house he shared with his mother, you had tried to get him to eat. A quest which seemed a hopeless one. He was still as frail and thin looking as before. You sometimes wondered if you did something wrong. You cooked the tastiest and loveliest things. Yet he would hardly have a bite. Did he not appreciate the effort? 

You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath, noticing how your hands had turned to fists. He must have noticed it too because he’s now shushing you. One hand remains lightly upon your belly while the other runs freely through your hair and then gently strokes past your cheek. The gesture makes you whimper. 

“No need to get upset,” you hear him whisper in that sweet dark voice of his. “Think of the baby. _Our_ baby.” 

_Oh,_ and the way he stressed that it’s a baby of you both, it sends pleasant tingling up your spine. You squeeze your thighs together. How does he do this to you? Each and every time? 

You hum a short apology to which he answers there’s no need to apologise for anything. “If anything, I should be the one apologising to you. I know you worked hard to make me a special treat.” As he says it, he makes sure to lock eyes with you so that you can see he is serious. His voice is a little sterner, his dark brows furrow, and on no account does he allow you to break eye-contact with him. 

You feel yourself grow weak, like pudding. You melt underneath his gaze and into his hands. Now his second hand is back to join the one on your tummy again and he closes his eyes. A pleased hum escapes his throat like a low rumble. 

“I can’t wait till we are three,” he mutters. And you know he means till the moment the child is out and he can actually hold the little one. 

“Technically,” you reply with a giggle while you press his hands even firmer against the baby bump. “We are three already.” 

<strike>You had not meant three to be his mum, who called for the two of you from out of her bedroom.</strike>


End file.
